


Birthday Boy

by frankcastles (Deathtouch)



Series: The Adult Men of Beacon Hills and Their Sex Toy [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Blackouts, Blow Jobs, Chastity Device, Dildos, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Facials, Fucking Machines, Gangbang, Lack of Safe Words, Large Insertion, Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Pain, Rape/Non-con Elements, Service, Sex Toys, Subdrop, Submission, Subspace, kept boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/frankcastles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>☛ in which some of the adult men of beacon hills help Stiles celebrate his birthday</p><p>
  <i>"Stiles-" Alan said in warm voice. "Today's a big day for you."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Stiles sat up a little, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "It is?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Alan nodded. "We're going to be celebrating your birthday tonight."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"We are?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Udunie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/gifts).



> a (very belated) birthday gift to the absolutely wonderful Udunie!! i've shamefully kept her waiting three months for this gift, but i'm so happy to finally share it! her work inspires me so much, and i'm glad i could write something special for her :') 
> 
> Birthday Boy is a follow up to Sex Toy and it takes place some time after the events in that story but I don't think you need to read it to enjoy this one. it's also a little less raunchy and slightly more... fucked up. this fic is unbeta'd so my apologies for any errors or mistakes. please heed the warnings and enjoy!!

Stiles woke gently. He knew it was early morning. He could feel it in his gut. He sat up, stretched, and noticed that his bedroom door was open wide. Warm sunlight from the window at the end of the hall filled the doorway. He was glad the door was open; that meant he was allowed to go out. Sometimes he woke up and the door was shut, and he had to stay in his room all day.  
  
Tentatively he climbed out of bed. The hardwood floor was a little cold on his bare toes, but he didn't mind. Naked save for the close shaved hair on his head, and the plastic chastity device caged around his cock and balls, Stiles wandered out into the hall. Alan's bedroom door was cracked open, but the room was empty.  
  
Stiles could hear the quiet sound of voices coming from the first floor. He wandered cautiously towards the stairs. Usually he wasn't allowed to leave his room if Alan had company over... He couldn't make out who was speaking because the voices were mixed in with the gentle noises of breakfast being made.  
  
Stiles' stomach growled.  
  
He carefully ventured down one step, and then another, and then descended to the first floor. He walked to the kitchen and peeked inside.  
  
Peter was there, leaning against the counter. He was wearing a black shirt and his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked up in the very same moment that Stiles laid eyes on him. The smug smile that usually covered his face shifted momentarily into a genuine one when he spotted the kid.  
  
Stiles lit up and made a small gasp of happiness as he hurried over to give Peter a big hug. "Peter!" He laid his cheek against the soft fabric of Peter's shirt and nuzzled into his warm chest. "I missed you."  
  
It had been almost two weeks since they last saw one another. Stiles wasn't very good at keeping track of days, but he noticed when no one came to visit him.  
  
Peter stroked the stubble on the back of Stiles' head. "I missed you too." He said sounding surprisingly sincere. "Happy birthday."  
  
Stiles angled his head up, and turned his eyes upward as well, but all he could see was Peter's shirt collar. It... it was his birthday? It was April already? Had he really been staying with Alan that long?  
  
"Come eat some breakfast, birthday boy." Alan's warm voice spoke to him from deeper within the kitchen.  
  
Stiles stepped back, glancing towards the stove. Alan was standing there. He was still in his pajamas, a respectable pair of blue flannel pants and a cottony white t-shirt. He was presiding over a frying pan, carefully nudging a pair of eggs. The breakfast counter beside him was set with a plate of toast. Stiles walked over and sat at the stool. Alan brought him two perfect Sunny side up eggs, still sizzling in the pan.  
  
Stiles smiled a stupid, guilty little smile. He liked sunny side up eggs the best because he could poke his toast into the yoke. Alan had remembered. His heart warmed over and something fond grew in his chest as he started eating. He felt very loved in that moment. He had Alan to take care of him, and Peter came to visit sometimes. Even Chris Argent had stopped by to see him once...  
  
"Thanks for breakfast." He said as he ate.  
  
Usually he gave Alan a blowjob to show how thankful he was, if there was time before work. Stiles wondered if Peter had helped cook, and if he would be wanting a blowjob too? Maybe Stiles would get to suck his cock anyway, just for fun and not as a thank you. He smiled thinking about it.  
  
"Stiles-" Alan said in warm voice. "Today's a big day for you."  
  
Stiles sat up a little, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "It is?"  
  
Alan nodded. "We're going to be celebrating your birthday tonight."  
  
"We are?" He sort of liked the sound of that. He glanced over his shoulder in a jerky motion at Peter before looking back at Alan. "Me and you and Peter?"  
  
Alan nodded. "And Chris, and Deucalion, and Scott's father Rafael will be here too."  
  
Stiles' stomach twisted in an odd knot. Excitement coursed through him. He remembered the video, the one of him unconscious and limp on the vet table. He remembered bits and pieces of it, choppy and fragmented in his mind. He had been drugged and just fucked when he'd seen the recording...  
  
They were all going to come together again? For him? The warm feeling of being loved grew in his chest.  
  
"They're all coming here?" He asked in surprise. "To see me?"  
  
"To fuck you." Peter corrected.  
  
Stiles' cock ached in its tightly locked cage, attempting an erection. The chastity device efficiently prevented him from getting hard, though there was a long moment or two of dull pressure as his cock tried to fight the good fight. He smiled a bit his lip. "Will I... Get to be awake this time?"  
  
Alan exchanged a glance with Peter. He sighed in contemplation. "That's the plan."  
  
Stiles lit up with excitement.  
  
"If you can behave." He warned  
  
"I can!" Stiles promised. "I'll be good."  
  
Alan gave him a pointed look. "And your body will be cooperative?"  
  
Oh... well that was a little bit harder. Sometimes his body did things on its own, and Stiles couldn't help it. Sometimes Alan picked out a plug that was too big and no matter how much lube and grunting, there was just no fitting it in. Sometimes Stiles' caged cock spurted come even though it was soft and he knew he wasn't allowed to orgasm. He did his best to be good, and he was learning new ways to control himself every day. Still. It would be tough...  
  
He thought about Peter's fist inside of him in the video. Stiles had barely been able to fit Alan's hand inside of him since then, much less half a forearm. Fisting was much easier when his body was limp and lax. He wondered if he would be expected to take an entire arm up his ass again. He wondered if he could.  
  
"I'll do my best." Stiles promised.  
  
"Good," Peter chimed in. "We want to see you enjoy your birthday gifts."  
  
Stiles' eyes went wide. He was getting gifts!?  
  
Alan laughed as his reaction. "Eat up." He said nodding to the messy eggs and toast on the plate. "Like I said it's a big day for you, and breakfast is a good start."

 

* * *

 

Peter was relaxed easily against the back of the couch, feet kicked up in the coffee table. Stiles was curled up comfortably on the couch cushion beside him. He had his head in Peter's lap, cheek smushed against the dark fabric of his jeans. He couldn't really see the tv that well from this angle, but he liked laying there. Peter occasionally rubbed at the short stubble of Stiles' hair, or rested his hand on the boy's bare shoulder. Stiles wasn't usually allowed on the couch, but since it was his birthday today he got special treatment.  
  
So much for a 'big day'. He'd spent half the morning laying around.  
  
Alan made himself busy tidying this and that around the house. He found things to put away, pillows to fluff, and items to organize.  
  
"Let the kid do that." Peter chided as Alan made his way through the living room, watering plants as he went.  
  
Stiles actually was the one who did all the cleaning, so he wouldn't have minded. Alan usually made him wear a silly white apron and a thick black plug up his ass. They pretended he was a maid, dusting the baseboards in the nude. It was a fun game actually. It made cleaning a little less boring. If he was good he got to suck Alan off afterward, and if he missed any spots he got a spanking. Sunday was always cleaning day, and Stiles got more spankings than Alan got blowjobs...  
  
"I want him well rested." Alan said pointedly, refusing to break out the apron or the plug.  
  
Well rested. Hmph. Stiles was feeling downright bored.  
  
As the sun sank lower, and the light coming in through the living room windows filtered into golden Amber instead of crisp white, Stiles started to squirm. He shifted onto his back, and then his side again, and then nuzzled into Peter's crotch and kissed him through his jeans. Peter put a stop to that with sharp nails on the back of Stiles' neck.  
  
He sighed and squirmed around some more. He was just about to get up and help clean anyway when Alan brought over lunch. A perfectly made sandwich on a plate. Stiles sat on the edge of the cushion, eating over the coffee table because he knew it was better not to get crumbs in the couch.  
  
"Take him upstairs when he's done." Alan said to Peter, as if Stiles were not even there. Stiles looked up and listened, chewing his food a little slower. "Run him a bath, and clean him out."  
  
Oh. 'Clean him out'. The tell-tale words that meant he would be getting a nozzle up his ass and a belly full of water. Stiles frowned, and suddenly his sandwich didn't seem that tasty.  
  
He didn't mind enemas, they were okay sometimes. Sometimes he got soapy ones for punishment though, and that was miserable. He'd rather take the cane or paddle than a soapy enema. He hadn't done anything bad today, so maybe it would just be a regular one. Stiles hoped so.  
  
Alan had his wallet in hand, and he opened the billfold. He pulled out a shiny metal key, quite small in size really. He handed it over to Peter. Stiles' heart skipped a beat.  
  
"Stiles knows how to clean his cock cage, but watch over him as he does it."  
  
Stiles had never seen anyone else hold the key to his chastity device. He trusted Peter with it, sure. It was just sort of scary seeing Alan had it over.  
  
Peter said nothing. He had one eyebrow cocked, and he too was looking up at Alan as he spoke though he wasn't rapt with attention like Stoles was. No, he seemed somewhat... annoyed.  
  
"Hey," Alan gave him a look. "You're the one who said you wanted to spend more time with him on his birthday."  
  
"I meant fucking him, not bathing him." Peter said flatly.  
  
"I want him-"  
  
"-Well rested." Peter finished, all but rolling his eyes. "I know." He pocketed the key.  
  
Stiles ate pretty slowly after that, wanting to draw out time until he had to go up and be cleaned by Peter inside and out. He could only waste so much time chewing, though. Eventually his sandwich disappeared and after that there was nothing he could do but March up the stairs with Peter tailing him.

 

* * *

 

The first present arrived as Stiles was laying over Peter's lap. He’d been scrubbed clean in the tub, hair washed and skin thoroughly soaped. Peter had unlocked his cock cage, and Stiles had run the plastic under the cool water of the tub’s faucet as the bath drained.  
  
Peter teased him and told him his cock was shrinking as he locked the clean cage back into place. Stiles wouldn’t have mind the teasing so much if he wasn’t so sure it was true.  
  
Then Peter made him mix up a warm enema, laid Stiles out over his knee, and fed the fat nozzle into his hole. Stiles sort of liked being in Peter’s lap, but the pressure on his belly made him cramp more than usual. The position was different than the one Alan usually had him in. He’d never been taken over the knee before…  
  
There was a knock on the doorframe.  
  
“One of the gifts has been delivered.” Alan said from the bathroom doorway.  
  
Peter and Stiles both looked up at him.  
  
“And?” Peter said pointedly.  
  
“And it’s too heavy for me to move. The delivery guy needs help.”  
  
With an enema nozzle sticking out of him, and warm water rushing to fill his insides, Stiles was forced to climb off Peter’s lap and kneel over the side of the tub instead. His belly ached from shifting around. He rubbed it tenderly.  
  
“Take the whole bag.” Peter warned him. “And wait for Alan or I to come back.”  
  
Stiles was left alone after that, and he tried not to be too hurt that they just up and left him like this. He closed his eyes, rubbed his stomach and pretended the cramps didn’t hurt. He’d be good. They would see. He’d take the whole bag, and he wouldn’t mess with the nozzle, and Peter and Alan would be proud of him.  
  
He tried to distract himself by wondering about the gift. What could it be that it was so heavy?

 

* * *

 

Stiles stood at the top of the stairs as Rafael came in through the front door, the last of all the guests to arrive. All five of them were here now. Alan of course, because it was his house, but Peter and Chris and Deucalion too. All of them were here to see Stiles, to fuck him on his birthday.  
  
Stiles felt… _honored_. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to bring this odd assortment of men together, but he had. They were all here for him because they loved fucking him. He was excited to be awake this time. He liked being the object of their affection, and he was glad he wasn’t going to have to experience it retroactively via home video.  
  
Stiles leaned over the railing a little, watching as Rafael walked into the living room. He could only see so much from the top of the stairs. Alan had made him wait in his bedroom as guests started arriving. He said he’d come fetch Stiles when it was the right time. Stiles was getting antsy and impatient. He wanted to be down there, celebrating, having fun.  
  
A creaking in the floorboards indicated someone walking towards the stairs. Stiles scurried away from the railing and went back to his room. He stood in the open doorway and peeked out down the hall. He saw Alan’s shaved head, and then the rest of him as he ascended each step. He’d changed out of his pajamas into some nice clothes. A dress shirt and slacks.  
  
Stiles bit his lip to keep from smiling. Alan was all dressed up for him.  
  
“I thought I told you to stay in your room.” Alan said.  
  
“I am in my room.” Stiles replied, inching back from the doorway.  
  
Alan gave him a look. “Stiles. No more playing around. I need you on your best behavior.”  
  
Stiles looked down, feeling his face flush.  
  
“You need to go down there and show them how good you are. Show them how right we were for picking you to be ours. Show them how much you’ve learned.”  
  
Alan’s hand reached out to him, and Stiles took it.  
  
He would. He really did want to be their sex toy. He wanted this very much. He was going to show them.

 

* * *

 

"To Stiles," Chris Argent said in his deliciously deep voice. He raised a tall glass of champagne.  
  
"To Stiles." The other men echoed. They clinked their glasses together joyfully over Stiles' head where they all stood encircling him. He was kneeling on the plush red carpet of the living room. They had moved the coffee table out of the way so that Stiles could be the center of attention instead.  
  
There was a quiet moment where everyone sipped and smiled, and then the sound of a zipper filled the silence. Stiles wasn't sure who pulled their cock out first, but everyone else followed suit.  
  
He'd suck all of them off, of course. Each and every one. Since it was Alan's home Stiles crawled to him first and took him into his mouth. His thick cock was soft, but it quickly grew stiff. Stiles knew all the ways that Alan liked it. Even with everyone else waiting he took his time. He closed his eyes and bobbed his head, making slurping wet sounds.  
  
Everyone else groaned, fists finding cocks all around him. They were murmuring filthy things, though most of it was words of encouragement. Someone had a camera, filming. Someone else snapped a picture of him on their phone, the bright flash blinding Stiles’ left eye for a moment.  
  
He made Alan come. He used just his mouth and his tongue and the motion of his head. He barely had time to swallow the thick load of jizz before someone else was shoving their cock in his mouth. Rafael, he thought. It didn't matter. Stiles hollowed his cheeks and blew him.  
  
When he'd blown everyone, he had to go around and offer seconds. Some men were sitting down, drinking champagne leisurely on the couch and in the love seat. Others were standing around looking at pictures on their phone, sharing photos and videos of the last time they'd all gotten together to celebrate Stiles.  
  
His jaw started to ache around the fifth blowjob. His neck hurt around the sixth. His scalp felt a little raw from where his close cropped hair had been scratched and grabbed at. His belly was only somewhat full of come; half the men he sucked off chose to blow their load on his face instead of down his throat. That was okay. Even though his eyelashes were a little sticky now, he sort of liked the way it felt on his skin; warm and drying.  
  
After the two rounds of blowjobs, Stiles crawled on his hands and knees to Peter.  
  
He was probably supposed to pretend he didn't have favorites. He was probably supposed to service everyone equally. No one else came to visit him though. No one else fucked him against the wall, or in the shower that one time, or in bed late at night. When the other men started coming to see him as often as Peter did, he'd crawl to them instead.  
  
Peter was relaxing back in the loveseat. He'd been watching Stiles critically, and his eyebrow cocked with curiosity as the boy approached. Stiles knelt before him, and reached his hands to the waistband of Peter's jeans, where he'd put his cock away.  
  
"Want something?" Peter asked in mild amusement.  
  
“Fuck me.” Stiles requested, tongue thick from giving so much head. His voice sounded wet and groggy too.  
  
“What’s that?” Peter asked, though he had damn well heard.  
  
Stiles could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He knew the camera was rolling. He took a deep breath, and tugged on the belt loops of Peter’s jeans.  
  
“Please fuck me.” He begged. “Please. I want your cock in me. Your…your come in me. I want it.” He was blushing hot red. Everyone was watching. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was more embarrassing because he meant it or not.  
  
Alan gently called out to the two of them and then tossed Peter a tube of lube. He caught it effortlessly, and a dark grin spread across his face. “Let’s see that ass, boy. Turn around. Put your face on the floor.”  
  
Stiles turned, and when he did he could see everyone staring at him. Alan’s warm eyes, Chris’ sharp blue ones watching through the viewfinder of the camera. Deucalion soberly viewing everything behind a square pair of sunglasses. Rafael sipping his champagne, but wholly invested. Stiles dropped to his elbows, and leaned down, resting his cheek against the carpet. His ass was in the air, facing Peter. A couple men moved in, encroaching on their space, interested in getting a better look.  
  
“God-“ Peter groaned. His warm hands reached for the cheeks of Stiles’ ass. He pulled them apart, revealing so much more. “Perfect and pink and ripe for the fucking.” He muttered.  
  
There was a murmur of agreement.  
  
Stiles was flush with a little bit of excitement and a lot of embarrassment. He was shocked to hear the wet spat of Peter spitting, and then feel a degrading glob of saliva land on his exposed hole. His embarrassment soured into shame for a moment. His cock ached in it’s cock cage.  
  
Peter’s thumb circled his hole. Stiles barely recognized the sensation for what it was before the thumb was being shoved inside of him. With only a little spit to guide the way it was rough, and Peter’s thumb felt too fat. He gasped a little, spreading his knees to make it easier. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love the ache of it.  
  
Peter fingered him for a few minutes, making Stiles groan into the carpet. When he was satisfied he hauled the boy up from the floor. He slicked up his cock with wet lube and forced Stiles to sit on it. Peter’s dick was huge but Stiles was familiar with it. He arched his back, gripped the side of the couch, and grunted because somehow making noise made it easier. He sank down on Peter’s cock, impaling himself.  
  
When he had the entire stiff cock inside of him, Stiles rode it hard and fast. He closed his eyes, shutting out the feeling of being watched. He threw his head back instead, moaning and enjoying himself.

 

* * *

 

‘Gifts’ had been the word Peter used this morning, in the kitchen. He said he wanted to see Stiles enjoy his birthday gifts. Plural. So far as Stiles could tell there was only one. One giant box. It took up half of the living room and he stole glances at it hopelessly.  
  
He was passed around from man to man. Rafael fucked him over the edge of the couch, and Stiles tried not to remember all the times he’d hated the guy for walking out on his best friend when they were younger. Now he was just another cock to take, nothing more and nothing less. He bounced around in Chris’ lap, but Chris was too sensitive from the blowjobs he’d gotten to come again. Deucalion managed to pound away at Stiles with some real vigor though; fucked him right into the floor. Alan took him, sloppy from four other men, and fucked him gently. He was the one who made Stiles moan the most. The camera was passed from person to person as was Stiles, recording all of the action.  
  
Each and every one of them fucked him differently and in their own way. Still. Stiles felt his eyes and attention wandering towards the gift as they fucked him. He wanted to know what it was so badly.  
  
Alan noticed his attention wandering. It was after he’d come inside of Stiles’ gaping hole that Alan said something. He wrapped his arms around the boy’s waist and kissed his sweat slicked neck. “You want to know what it is?” He asked, voice surprisingly level considering how they’d been going at it a few moments ago.  
  
Stiles was breathless. “Wha-?”  
  
“The gift. You want to know what it is?” Alan repeated himself.  
  
Stiles bit his lip and nodded.  
  
Alan’s cock was still inside of him. Hot come filled the spaces between his dick and the walls of Stiles’ insides. The come was slowly oozing out, and he could feel it pooling between his cheeks and in Alan’s lap.  
  
Chris was the one to stand up and walk over to the box. He lifted it straight up into the air, the lightweight cardboard was easy enough to move. Apparently it was just a box to hide his gift under, and Stiles stared dumbly at the contraption in the center of the living room floor. He didn't understand…  
  
A black metal frame, black machinery within, a long silver spear-like part that jutted out from the frame, a long black electrical cord that stretched towards the wall. What was it supposed to be?  
  
“Thank you,” Stiles said dumbly, because he knew he should be thankful for his gift no matter what it was. He’d learn to appreciate it, he was sure.  
  
“Do you know what it is?” Alan asked him.  
  
Stiles bit his bottom lip. He leaned back against Alan’s chest, feeling the softening cock shift inside of him. He didn't want to disappoint him with a wrong answer but he really didn't know. He noticed suddenly that Rafael was filming; he had the camera trained on Stiles’ face, likely zoomed in. Stiles felt utterly self conscious.  
  
“..a machine?”  
  
Alan gestured then.  
  
Chris had moved the large cardboard box out of the way and was now kneeling along side the metal frame. From somewhere out of sight he produced a rather large flesh colored dildo. He twisted it into place on the end of the silver spear. With a flick of a switch the machine turned on. The dildo was thrust forward and back again in a quick motion.  
  
Stiles’ gut twisted up. His cock twitched in his cage.  
  
“A fucking machine.” Alan said. His lips found Stiles’ shoulder and then his neck again. His kisses were so tender and sweet. “Happy birthday, Stiles.”  
  
“Happy Birthday.” Chris added.  
  
“Happy Birthday, Stiles” and “Happy Birthday” Rafael and Deucalion said at the same time.  
  
Peter was last to say it. He stood up, and walked over to where Stiles was still sitting in Alan’s lap. He held out his hand. “Happy birthday.” He said smirking.  
  
Stiles took his hand, and on weak knees he stood. Alan’s cock slid out from his wetly. With come dripping down his thighs he followed Peter to the fucking machine. Chris momentarily turned it off so that Stiles could get down on his knees in position.  
  
He looked over his shoulder and carefully crawled backwards. The tender skin of his legs rubbed painfully against the carpet, and the poke of the dildo’s head surprised him. It was rather large actually, bigger than most cock shaped toys he played with. Peter nudged his hips with the toe of his boot, guiding Stiles into place. The dildo slid in too easy what with all the men that had fucked him before. It didn't even stretch him open or offer any friction. It just simply filled the hole inside of him, squishing out loads of come as it slid in.  
  
Stiles waited anxiously for Chris to turn the machine on. It startled him when it happened, and Stiles let out a little yelp. It didn't hurt, in fact it felt quite good, but it was still sudden and strange. The first setting of the machine was quite languid and slow. At an inhumanly perfect rhythm the dildo slid in and out of him. It was so smooth and easy. Stiles moaned.  
  
“Thank you,” he groaned gratefully, meaning it this time. “Thank you, thank you.” His fingers gripped the carpet. He felt so lucky. He couldn't guess how expensive a machine like this was and they had all pitched in to get him one. “It’s perfect,” he gasped breathlessly as he was being fucked. “Thank you!”

 

* * *

 

There was more than one setting on the machine. Stiles learned very quickly just how hard and just how fast a fucking machine could fuck. Everyone laughed with Chris changed the settings, and the dildo went pistoning into him so quickly Stiles couldn't help but to cry out. Apparently it was very funny to see his wet hole pounded into like a jackhammer might pound pavement.  
  
Stiles made pathetic noises. He couldn't help himself. The machine was like a vibrator on steroids. All the buzzing speed plus the ability to penetrate his quivering hole again and again. And again. It was faster than any human could fuck. So fast and so fluid that Stiles wasn't sure how long he could endure the rapid sensation. It was too good, to pure, too raw.  
  
He came, surprising himself. The fucking machine felt good, but not that good? Still the overwhelming sensations produced a small fiery orgasm. White seed bubbled out of the hole in his plastic cock cage. Stiles jerked and moaned and enjoyed the sensation as pangs of pleasure branched out from his belly. Chris was closest to him, and the first to notice. He cheered happily, pouring himself another glass of champagne; a toast to Stiles coming.  
  
It was a short, somewhat unsatisfactory climax. Then again it was hard to have any other kind of orgasm with a caged cock. The real pain began afterwards. The fucking machine continued thrusting into his over sensitive body regardless of how overstimulated he was. The pleasure soured quite quickly.  
  
Stiles dug his nails harder into the carpet and continued making whimpering whining sounds… That was until someone stuffed their cock in his mouth to shut him up. Peter, he thought. It tasted like Peter. Stiles focused on pleasing him because it was easier than focusing on the speed and ferocity with which the dildo thrust in and out of him, relentlessly pounding his hole.  
  
Some time after Peter had come all over his face they passed out cake; birthday cake. He could smell the vanilla frosting. Stiles didn't get any though. He began to cry, hole completely raw from the endless fucking. Bleary eyed he did not notice when one of the men approached him. A pair of fingers popped into his mouth and he could taste the sweet cake icing.  
  
“Lick them clean.” Chris was telling him.  
  
Still crying he did as he was told. His ass hurt. His insides were being rubbed raw. He didn't want any cake he wanted relief from this.  
  
“Please,” he sobbed around Chris’ fingers.  
  
“What is it?” Chris asked warmly, he’d taken to crouching in front of Stiles stared at him with his piercing eyes.  
  
“Hurts.” Stiles managed to say.  
  
“You can take it.” Chris decided, completely disregarding his pain.  
  
Stiles wasn't sure he could.

 

* * *

 

Stiles had been rather excited by the fucking machine when he realized what it was. His caged cock had stirred and he had hurried to try it out. Now he was sure he hated the damn machine, and he hoped it would break inexplicably never to be fixed again.  
  
It fucked him so hard, and for so fast, and for so long that it now tore screams from his throat with each mechanical thrust. The men attending his birthday party simply watched, and lazily stroked their cocks to the sight of it. Someone, Rafael he thought, even drew in close to film the whole thing with the camera.  
  
When his screaming grew too loud and consistent for them to easy converse over; the machine was turned to a lower setting where the dildo fucked him a little slower. There at least Stiles could catch his breath but the torment did not end.  
  
His hole was pulsing red and white with the pain of each thrust. His insides were being rubbed raw. There was no escape from that unending rhythm with which it pounded. Stiles knew, logically, that he could simply crawl away. He didn't dare do such a thing, though. Alan would be furious with him, his birthday guests would be so disappointed.  
  
What was it Alan had said? _You need to go down there and show them how good you are. Show them how right we were for picking you to be ours._ Yes, Stiles would be good. He wouldn't crawl away. He’d show them.  
  
When the men decided he was well rested enough, they turned the machine to its highest setting again. Stiles begged them not to but they did it anyway. He screamed as the machine’s lazy thrusts turned frantic and fast again. His elbows soon gave out and he sobbed and cried into the carpet in pain. His consciousness was chipped away with each quick thrust of the dildo, and slowly blackness crept over him. It wasn't pleasant subspace, no. He simply passed out.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles.”  
  
Oh, he was so comfortable. His hole was burning hot and his insides were raw and red but he felt soft fabric against his back. There were warm hands touching him lovingly.  
  
“ _Stiles_.”  
  
Stiles tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. He was thankful not to be attached to the fucking machine anymore, utterly grateful for the reprieve. He’d be recovering from that machine for days, he was sure of it. He’d done it, though. He’d endured the rough fuck and everyone had watched and enjoyed. Stiles felt very proud of himself. He hoped the other men were proud of him too, happy with his performance.  
  
A shock of cold brought reality crashing down around him. Cold water, splashed in his face, trickling down his naked chest. Stiles gasped, eyes snapping open. His dream like state was torn from his mind.  
  
“Easy,” Deucalion whispered into his ear. stiles was sitting in his lap it seemed.  
  
The living room was a mess. There were plates and napkins strewn about, empty bottles of champagne and glasses sitting here and there. Come stained the couches and the floor. Someone’s black leather belt had been discarded entirely.  
  
He was just as messy as the room. Stiles too was covered in come, but also sweat and spit and lube. His pride from a moment ago gave way to fear and embarrassment. Had he passed out? For how long? Had the party gone on without him? Had they done things to him while he was a sleep.  
  
He whimpered.  
  
“Are you ready for your second present?” Chris asked smiling. He had a terse smile.  
  
A second present? God, no. Stiles wasn't ready for anything at all. He was presented with a box anyway. This one was not perfunctory brown cardboard used to cover a massive machine. This was a proper gift, wrapped in festive blue paper. The lid was loose and capped with a bow. Arms weak and fingers trembling he reached out. He knew they were all waiting for him to do it. He lifted the lid with some small struggle.  
  
He couldn't reach inside, his arms hurt too much from holding himself up on all fours. They felt like jello. Instead Chris reached in, lifting out a black hulking thing. It was nearly two feet tall, slender at the top and quite wide at the bottom. He looked at it in confusion.  
  
Horror struck stiles as he realized it was a dildo. A massive black dildo. It was so big and so thick it literally made him ill to think about inserting it into someone. He began to cry at once. They were going to put that thing inside him, he knew it. It was ten times bigger than any plug Alan had ever used on him. He wouldn't be able to take it.  
  
“What do you say when you’re given a gift?” Alan asked scoldingly from off to his right.  
  
“Th-thank you.” Stiles choked out through his tears.

 

* * *

 

Stiles had panicked. Well and truly panicked. Panicked like he had never panicked in his life. He went twisting out of Deucalion’s grasp. He ran in staggering steps from the living room, stumbling towards the stairs. He had it in his mind to run up to his room and slam the door.  
  
Peter was the one who darted after him. He snatched Stiles by the waist and held the boy to his chest. Stiles had pounded a feeble fist against him once, twice, and then broke down sobbing in his arms.  
  
Peter carried him into the kitchen, to the cold tile and stainless steel. It gave them some measure of privacy at least where Stiles could continue to cry in shame and fear.  
  
“What are you crying for?” Peter asked him in a low whisper, stroking his buzzed scalp so sweetly it wasn't like him.  
  
“It’s too big.” Stiles sobbed. “It’ll hurt too much.”  
  
“Yes, that’s entirely the point.” Peter agreed.  
  
If this was meant to console or reassure Stiles, well, it didn't. Stiles went right on sobbing. He should have shoved away from Peter, should have taken off running again. Instead he looked for solace in Peter’s warm embrace. What else could he do?  
  
Peter let him go on crying awhile longer, and when Stiles’ sobs quieted to sad sniffles he continued. “Alan and I want you to be awake to enjoy your birthday gifts but we’ll use you however we want whether you’re awake or not.”  
  
Stiles recalled waking up on the couch, cold water splashed in his face. He had been so worried that the party had carried on without him. He wanted to be awake to enjoy his gifts too; really, he did.  
  
His initial panic was starting to melt away and now he felt guilty. He shouldn't have run out like that. Alan had trained him better than to do such a thing. He was supposed to be showing them how good he was, not balking in fear.  
  
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, face buried in Peter’s shirt. He’d absolutely drenched it with tears. “I'm sorry I got scared.”  
  
“I’ve fit half my arm inside of you, Stiles.” Peter reminded him then. “Your body is capable of doing this, and you’ve been primed by that fucking machine for over an hour. Inserting your new toy might be easier than you think.”  
  
Peter was right, and Stiles knew it. He let himself be held and cradled a few moments longer. Eventually he let Peter walk him back out into the living room. Stiles hung his head, and when he glanced up everyone was turned to look at him. No one was angry or upset with his outburst. They were waiting for him, happy he had decided to join them again.  
  
“I’m sorry I ran away.. I- I want to try.” He croaked out.  
  
His words were met with smiles and support. Despite his uncertainty it made Stiles smile a little too.

 

* * *

 

Stiles squeezed Deucalion’s hand.  
  
It was only Peter’s fingers at his entrance, wet with lube and gentle as they touched. Still it hurt to be touched there. He was just so raw from all the fucking, by both men and machine. Though mostly from the machine.  
  
“Relax.” Peter whispered to him. “You're already nice and loose. It’ll be easy.”  
  
Stiles tried to believe him. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose and out his mouth. They had made him very comfortable on the couch, allowing him to lay on his back atop the cushions. Deucalion stood at his side, kindly holding his hand as all the rest watch from between his legs.  
  
“He’s filled with come.” Rafael pointed out, half disgusted and half in awe.  
  
“Yeah, his hole is really gaping.” Chris agreed. “All juicy and wet.”  
  
Their words made him want to squirm.  
  
Stiles could not tell the difference between one finger and four. He was so loose it didn't matter, all he knew was that it burned when Peter touched him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight when the sensations at his entrance produced an aching, stretching sort of pain. It hurt a little but Stiles preferred this, the feeling of being stretched and filled. He always did love the ache of it.  
  
To his utter shock, Peter put gentle pressure on his prostate. It felt good to be stimulated there, and Stiles clenched up accidentally in response. He could feel it now. Oh that was definitely four fingers inside of him. Twisting, stroking his tender insides, slowly moving in and out of his lube slicked passage, urging his already slack hole to be wider and wider.  
  
“Relax.” Peter admonished.  
  
Stiles tried, willing the tension from his body.  
  
He could sort of tell when Peter switched his fingers out for the toy. He felt the loss, no longer filled, and then he felt smooth silicone sliding into him. It hurt a little, and it reached deep inside of his body where Peter’s hand could not. Stiles’ back arched, and he moaned pathetically.  
  
“God, look at him devour it.” Chris groaned.  
  
“You took a third of the toy in one go.” Peter laughed at him. He was running his thumb again Stiles’ red hole, stretched tight around the shaft of the dildo. “Ready for the rest?”  
  
Stiles didn't offer an answer. He felt the pressure start. The way the toy forced itself deeper and deeper and deeper. So deep it was rearranging his insides. So deep he was sure it was making his stomach bulge out. His hole stretched more and more, more than he ever thought possible.  
  
When he was younger he used to put his round hairbrush handle up inside of him. His virgin hole was so tight, that was all it took to make him feel stuffed. Now it took a massive sex toy nearly two feet tall. The feeling of it was so intense he found himself crying out again. His voice was so rough from screaming that it broke.  
  
It wasn't the only thing that broke. One second he felt the toy jamming in deep and the next blackness was crawling over him. Again. It was not pain that washed over him this time, ebbing him away into a world of hurt. No it was the sensation of being filled.  
  
He thought he could hear men's voices very far away. His hole pulsed with the beating of his heart. Full. God he felt so full. It was soft and ...almost blissful in the dark. Subspace. Real subspace. Stiles had felt this before, during his training with Alan. but if had only been once or twice.  
  
Stiles was still awake, yes. He knew what was being done to him. Sort of. Realizations and awareness drifted in and out. Time passed curiously, minutes and hours slipping by. Events of the evening crawled through his mind, tickling his brain. It didn't feel real, it felt like a dream. A wet dream.  
  
...Chris forcing his finger up inside of Stiles alongside the toy. It was just one little finger but it ached so much…   
  
...Peter tugging cruelly at his balls, Chris twisting his tender nipples. Didn't they know he couldn't come with this giant dildo inside him and his cock cage locking him up?...  
  
...The massive toy giving way, sliding out of him with a rush of wet lube. His hole sagging open, leaking fluids on the couch...  
  
...Rafael kissing his head, telling him he had to leave. Happy birthday. He’d see Stiles again soon…  
  
...Deucalion and Chris smothering him, their weight and their closeness making it hard to breathe. Both their cocks stuffed tight inside him. Pumping in at different intervals...  
  
...Soft carpet against his cheek. The toe of Peter’s foot pressing into his kidney. Piss burning from his caged cock, covering his thighs...  
  
...The toy again. No prep this time, just some lube. He was loose enough, gaping enough. Used enough. Big and black and utterly filling...  
  
...His favorite vibrator, the one from his bedroom. Alan pressing it to his cock cage making the plastic rattle. Stiles jerking in a near seizure as he came, clenching around the massive black toy…  
  
Real blackness took him then. It wasn't soft floating listlessness, he passed out stone cold again.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stiles drifted back to reality, slowly but surely becoming aware of the things around him. He was in the bathroom, upstairs. Peter was holding him, supporting him fully. Stiles had his cheek against Peter’s shoulder, head resting there. Oh he was so tired. Tired and aching. He hurt in more places than he could count.  
  
There was water running. Stiles was facing away from the tub but he knew the faucet was on, running steadily. He was surprised to feel a wiggling sensation at his hole and then the running of warm water down the backs of his thighs. He closed his eyes and groaned.  
  
“There, there.” Peter patted his back kindly. “Just a little more, and then you can rest.”  
  
The night came back to him in jerky flashes, half remembered. No wonder he was aching so badly. His mouth felt dry. He felt like crying, overwhelmed by everything that had happened to him. He didn't cry.  
  
“Enough.” Peter whispered, though he wasn't whispering to Stiles.  
  
“I just want to get some of the come out.” Alan replied.  
  
Oh, Alan was in the bathroom too. He was the one who had slipped a slender enema nozzle into Stiles’ loose hole and flushed in some water. No. No wait that wasn't right. It wasn't a slender nozzle it was a regular size one, and the reason the water came trickling out so easily was because Stiles’ sloppy hole couldn't close.  
  
These realizations should have been upsetting but Stiles just lay exhausted against Peter’s shoulder. Thankfully neither of them left him. Peter held him close and Alan cleaned him out and he felt very taken care of. It was entirely different from the enema this morning. Stiles didn't have to prove how good he was to either of them. They knew.  
  
“He’s bone tired, Alan. We need to lay him down.”  
  
Alan made a soft noise and it was clear he agreed.  
  
Stiles felt it as he was wiped clean. His hole was rather tender, and the terry cloth texture of the towel was a little painful. He didn't even flinch, though. He wondered if he would remember this tomorrow or if all these events in the bathroom would come back in jerky flashes too.  
  
Alan circled around and brought a clean corner or the towel to Stiles’ face, wiping away some of the dried come. He smiled in his utterly understanding way when he saw Stiles was awake.  
  
“Hey, you with us?” He asked in a quiet voice.  
  
Stiles blinked slowly and nodded his head once. His head felt like dead weight.  
  
“You did so well.”  
  
The words filled Stiles’ heart with warmth and joy. He managed a weak smile.  
  
Peter turned then and carried Stiles out of the bathroom. He walked down the hall to Alan’s room. The lights were off but that didn't stop him from walking inside. He carefully, gingerly laid Stiles down on the bed. He went to the lamp by the bedside table and switched it on.  
  
Stiles curled over on his side. The cotton fabric of the blankets felt so soft on his over sensitive skin. He closed his eyes.  
  
Alan gently shook his shoulder. “Stiles? Sit up, buddy.”  
  
Stiles groggily shifted. Aching and weak he pushed himself up on one arm. Alan brought a cool cup of water to his lips and Stiles sipped it gratefully. He remembered being given a bottle of water earlier, sometime before Chris and Deucalion mounted him at the same time. Alan offered two oblong shaped painkillers as well. Stiles took them and swallowed both. Oh his throat hurt.  
  
“Thank you.” He whispered. His voice was completely gone from all the screaming he’d done, but he could still breathe out a whisper. Then, with some uncertainty, he asked “Is everyone gone?” The house felt so empty, so quiet.  
  
Alan nodded. “Everyone’s gone. The party’s over.”  
  
Stiles felt like he missed most of it. He was a little sad. He knew they got it all on video. Maybe watching it again would help him fill in the blanks of his memory. It has been a good birthday, though. He recalled specific moments with utter fondness.  
  
“We do have one more gift to give you.” Peter said then, glancing to Alan as if to refer to him.  
  
Stiles’ heart flopped in his chest, a half attempt at panic. He was too exhausted to feel scared or dread. “What is it?” He asked.  
  
Alan went over to the brown wooden dresser against the wall. From the top drawer he retrieved something shiny and metal. He brought it closer, brandishing it for Stiles to see. Yellow lamplight illuminated the object… A chastity device. It was so much nicer than the plastic one he was wearing. A sleek metal cock cage, small and curved and perfect.  
  
“It’s from both of us.” Alan said. “Peter will have a key to this one too.”  
  
For some reason tears filled Stiles’ eyes. Good tears. He wasn't even sure he could cry anymore and yet wetness spilled down his cheek. Oh it was such a beautiful cock cage. It would look so pretty on him. A warm feeling of fondness welled up in his chest. It was such a perfect gift for him, a legitimate showing of how much they liked keeping him and owning him.  
  
“Thank you-” he choked out.  
  
Alan closed in on him in a very sweet hug. Stiles felt Peter sit down next to him and put a warm hand on his thigh. “Happy birthday.” They both told him.  
  
Alan switched out the cock cages swiftly and with grace. Stiles’ naked cock was bare for only a few moments before the new metal device was locked on. It was a surprisingly comfortable fit, only a little tight and nearly no pinching around the base of his cock.  
  
“It’s perfect.” He whispered, drying his eyes with his hands. He couldn't believe how lucky he was.  
  
To think when Alan had first caged him, he had cried and begged for the painful plastic device to be taken off. Now with his cock locked up in cool metal Stiles felt _loved_ , absolutely loved. He was theirs. Their sex toy, their hole to fuck, and they wouldn't trade him for the world. Even if he got scared sometimes, or cried sometimes. He tried, and he learned, and he was always striving to show how good he could be. This birthday gift was proof they had noticed. They wouldn't buy him such a beautiful, expensive cage if they didn't want to keep him forever.  
  
Stiles looked to Peter. He had a key now too. “Does this mean you’ll visit more often?” He asked hopefully.  
  
“Oh yes.” Peter said. “Can’t let that machine downstairs be the only thing to fuck you.”  
  
Stiles’ heart soared. Not even the memory of that awful machine could ruin this perfect moment.  
  
They all settled in for bed then. Alan hugged Stiles very sweetly, cradling the boy’s head to his chest. Peter climbed into bed too. He spooned Stiles from behind, arm draped over the boy’s slender hips.Stiles felt very loved, sandwiched between them. His eyes were closing almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, wishing every day could be his birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading
> 
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